


On Intimacy

by ecrivant



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Intimacy, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quiet, Reader-Insert, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrivant/pseuds/ecrivant
Summary: As the trauma of soldierhood begins to weigh on you, you turn to Levi for comfort.  A quiet exploration of damage and the intimacy shared by two.
Relationships: Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/You, Levi/Reader
Kudos: 61





	1. Touch

**Author's Note:**

> stop me if you’ve heard this one before: a fanfic where the reader has a tender encounter with levi in his office. i think i’m on the brink of discovering a writing trope no one has ever used before! don’t worry, we explore the incertitude and conflation of platonic and romantic intimacy, i swear i’m different, and i swear this is a character study and not just wish fulfilment.
> 
> touch is the reader’s love language.

Ferric miasma hangs in the air, low to the earth, a gauzy tulle of dawn fog. Beneath it, terra inked with sanguine dew. You stand above your parents’ mangled corpses, still. Blood roars in your ears, your face pulsates, hyperaware. You hear your eyes dart between your mother’s slack jaw, ripped from the cheek, and your father’s deranged expression, one eye hanging from the socket by a tendinous cord. Freckled complexions washed in red. Lifeless amputees, limbless, silent, barely even there. 

An immense umbra engulfs you; you have no feeling as you’re lifted into the air, ascending towards an obscure ether, pulled away from the statuesque corpses that lie beneath, overlooking a perverted vignette, figures composed in beguiling agony, a foreground washed in vermilion. A feverish vise clutches your unmoving form, and soured iron permeates your nostrils as teeth crush your skull—you hear the sickening crunch of bone, the pulping of your brain as it seeps between fractures, but you feel nothing at all. 

You woke with a heave in the dark of the barracks, unclenching your teeth and forcing your jaw apart. You searched in the dark until eyes find the dawn light. Everything was still; no one had stirred at your outburst _. Why dream of them now?_ Your index and middle fingers wrapped around your wrist, feeling rapid palpitations, matched with an inbound throbbing behind your eyes. You focused on a gouge in the wall opposite and listened to the steady breathing of your teammates, slowing your pulse, grounding yourself. 

An ambient hum hung in the air: the world’s low, ceaseless murmur. In the white noise, you heard remnants of a familiar melody—something quiet your mother used to sing to you, something formless and only heard in that vague void between wakefulness and sleep. Knowing it wasn’t there yet still listening intently, you grasped onto the wispy tones, and found yourself lost in nothing, and allowed yourself to fall into a dreamless sleep. Your mind produced no images, yet you sensed an incoming danger that left you restless. 

You came to with Mikasa gently shaking your shoulder. Her expectant gaze hung above you. 

“Training starts in ten minutes.” Said with gentle urgency. 

You were inexplicably struck still, as if the thought of getting out of bed was paralyzing. You sat up but didn’t move further.

“Don’t wait up.”

You felt a hand in yours as Mikasa kneeled, quietly examining you. Her concerned eyes would be too much; you kept your gaze in your lap. She ran her thumb over your hand, as if to ask if you were okay. No response, and her hand slipped out of yours. She drifted towards the door. 

“I’ll tell Captain Levi.”

—

A lifeless automaton, you eventually found yourself on the field just as everyone began warming up, feeling Levi’s eyes on your face as you wordlessly slipped into the drill. 

“I expect punctuality at all times, not just when you feel like it.” Like a knife.

Steel eyes, annoyed. Concerned. You let the reprimand linger as dull shame settled in your chest.

“Yes, sir.” You apologized with your gaze. 

—

Your tailbone struck the ground hard, birthing a shockwave that emanated through your spine. You made no moves to get up. Your respiration had ceased, and you fought against your sternum for breath. Hands gripped at loose soil, desperate for tangibility. 

Eren began to gloat but cut himself off when you didn’t respond to his outreached hand. 

“Hey, what’s with you?” He kneeled as he spoke, leveling himself with your gaze. 

You swallowed hard, tasting tears. Panicked. The thought of death lorded over you, taunting, ready to crush you underfoot. 

“I—I don’t know.”

You were vaguely aware of Eren calling for Mikasa, strong hands lifting you, bodies supporting your dead weight. The infirmary, hazy voices, ‘ _trauma_ ,’ disembodied grey eyes, nervous observation. Void, melting away, drifting. 

Your sleep was restless, filled with ravaged bodies, flayed flesh. As you finally awoke, you watched the glistening sinew creep up the walls, branded into your vision. Wordless, fearful babbling.

A strong hand pressed into your shoulder, pushing you back onto the mattress. Levi stood above you, expressionless, eyes roaming over your face. His hand remained until your expression calmed. The croak of your voice, your uncontrolled panic—you were humiliated. Eyes looking anywhere but him.

“I’m sorry, Captain.” 

He scoffed.

“Stop thinking.” He let go of your shoulder and held out a glass of water, bringing it to your lips to drink. A worthless invalid.

He stayed with you for hours. Neither spoke. At one point he asked if you wanted him to leave—you admitted you didn’t. 

Your hand rested on the edge of the bed, and he grabbed it without thinking. In spite of yourself, your face flushed at the contact. His touch was comfort, an unspoken assurance. When the nurse came to check on you, his grip stayed firm. 

You were released the next day to a group of concerned teammates. Levi ordered them to stand down, but the words of your superior were no match for their worry. Despite insisting you were fine, they treaded lightly, on eggshells. Eren led you to the dining hall, a plate already prepared and sitting at the table with Mikasa and Armin. 

“Please treat me like I’m normal.” Spoken with a hollow smile, a slapdash attempt at humor, normalcy. 

Flushed, Armin rushed to insist you were normal; Eren denied any special treatment; Mikasa watched you carefully, as if she were afraid a heavy gaze would break you. You did feel the weight of her gaze, this time meeting her eyes, and you felt your chest swell. Her concern cut through you, warming your face. You tried to calm the rest of your friends down, but things began to escalate when Connie and Sasha joined in, mentioning they were glad you weren’t mentally ‘fucked up,’ to which Jean shushed them. Glares and overlapping, apologetic rambling overwhelmed you. You were grateful for their concern but only in doses. 

Levi eyed your antics from his seat, recognizing your discomfort. He crossed the room in long strides, silencing the table with his arrival.

“Can I speak to you in my office?” His words were deadpan, but his eyes held no malice. You nodded, grateful he read you, and followed him out of the room.

—

“You’re not to train for the rest of the week.”

You couldn’t suppress your shock, which quickly turned to shame.

“Captain, I’m sorry. I won’t let my emotions interfere—”

Levi rolled his eyes, cutting you short. You shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to say.

“It’s not punishment. Believe it or not, I’m actually concerned for your wellbeing.” Deadpan. You had assumed you would have acclimated to his way of speaking, but it still gave you pause. You couldn’t help you felt patronized by him.

You stood in front of his desk, looking at his cheeks, his forehead, feigning eye contact. His gaze bore into you. 

“You’re not a special case. This has happened before.” Again, that equivocal, Levi-specific dialect. Did he mean to comfort you? You stayed silent, implicitly encouraging him to explain. 

“It just—it happens when a soldier isn’t,” he paused, breaking eye contact, choosing his words carefully, “hardened.” 

He returned his gaze to you. 

“It doesn’t mean you’re weak, brat. You’re just still sensitive.”

You processed his words. 

“How do you become strong?”

His eyebrows raised, fractionally. He set his jaw, his neutral expression returning.

“I just said this doesn’t mean you’re weak. You are strong.”

“I mean, how do I avoid more of these _episodes_?” You didn’t mean to raise your voice—you despised the desperation that slipped through. 

“Just watch more people die.” He eyed your reaction, taking in your surprise. 

“I don’t mean to be callous: it’s just a matter of exposure. Each death you see or cause or cannot prevent carves at your insides until you’re… hollow. And you have to let it happen.”

You were silenced, winded by a realization of a reality of unceasing cruelty. It was something you had always known, but to be faced with it so explicitly? You felt eviscerated. 

“Many die before they reach that point—empathetic and afraid.” 

Your knees threatened to buckle—Levi was quick to rise and support you. He apologized for going too far. 

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

You insisted it was not his fault. He only spoke a truth you were simply not ready to face. Levi led you over to his desk chair and you shakily sat. He stood before you, unmoving, before walking away, giving you space—moments later, deciding against it, he turned at the heel and returned, kneeling in front of you. He grabbed your hands, and you felt his breath on your face. Meeting his gaze, you saw an uncharacteristic softness, iris wavering. You wondered if he liked speaking to you, holding you. You wondered what would happen if you placed a chaste kiss on his lips. Levi’s smell struck you—it was familiar, nostalgic; it reminded you of home. Of a past, forgotten. Of the sunshine streaming through your grandmother’s kitchen window, the smell of your father’s tobacco pipe, your mother’s vanilla perfume. You couldn’t remember the last time you imagined any of them alive, rather than lifeless viscera. 

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, retreating as fast as you had advanced. It was chaste, demure, and you watched Levi remain motionless, wide-eyed. Red shame crept up your neck into your face, but you instead focused on his shock—what was the last thing that truly surprised your captain? 

Your captain— _captain._

Reality set in and your eyes widened in horror. Impulse driven by an entirely constructed, drunken, nostalgic familiarity. You felt more faint than you had in days. It wasn’t even an especially passionate moment, more awkward and quiet and, frankly, underwhelming. Maybe that was what made a first kiss special: the unique mundanity of it. You wished you could revel in the indistinctness of the moment—but instead, you fearfully eyed Levi, half-embarrassed, half-angry that you would so blatantly and thoughtlessly overstep that boundary. You retraced your thoughts: had you ever been captivated by Levi, or were you caught up in the moment of comfort he offered you? The intimacy of familiarity, amity? Maybe a bit of both. ~~~~

You watched as he finally recovered, defaulting to his normal expression. He didn’t have a tell, except for the deep red that tinged the tips of his ears. He pulled away, returning to his standing position and cutting you off before you had the chance to speak. 

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He spoke firmly, softly. Idiosyncratically Levi.

Emboldened by some deep irrationality, you spoke, not shying away from his gaze: “It felt nice, sir.”

He was silent again, short-circuited by your boldness. You hung, suspended, in the tension of the room. He eventually confirmed your statement, agreeing. 

“It did.” Bewildering for the both of you.

You insisted you needed to go back to your room and try to get some sleep, a cumbrous mess of meaning and filler words, and Levi didn’t stop you. There was no declaration of love, nor did he beg you to stay the night with him. You stood up and left, and as you shut the door, you looked back and caught a smile break through Levi’s look of consternation.


	2. and feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a collection of touches shared between you and levi.

You laid in your bed, haunted by ruminative wakefulness. Stomach flipping between pleasant warmth and anxious throbbing, made worse by the fear of what you may dream. A disquieted mentality which only fed into physiological anxiety. A weight on your lungs. You took deep breaths, trying to reclaim some semblance of control, too focused on your own respiration to notice Mikasa rousing and padding over to your bed in the dark. She softly called out to you, kneeling beside your bed. Her hair fell over her face, shrouding her eyes. A palm came to rest on your face, and came too a familiar bloom of warmth emanating through you. Still, panic rose. You seized. She began to exaggerate the movement of her chest, pushing it up and letting it fall as she breathed slowly, silently encouraging you to mimic her. You followed her gentle inhalations and exhalations. When she noted your breathing had steadied, she nodded, asking if you needed more; you nodded back to reassure her you didn’t. Her soft footfalls against the ground as she walked back to her bed, rhythmic and palpable. 

Your dreams were pitch, but contorted cries, aural perversions of your friends’ voices, filled your ears within the darkness—image only manifested once you were submerged in the feeling of falling. Your bottom half hung from a gaping mouth, and sinew and cochineal viscera poured out of your stomach as you fell headfirst to the earth. Fulminations of gore erupted around you. The maimed bodies of your friends suspended in the air, blood viscous, expressions malformed. You woke as your spine shattered against the ground. 

—

Embarrassing, maybe, that you found yourself outside of Levi’s office. You contemplated abandoning whatever subconscious agenda you sought to fulfill, but you could only watch as your hand rapped at the door on its own volition. A three-count, and the door opened. Close to immediate. You indulged the idea that he had expected you to come, maybe even hoped for it. Stepping back, widening the opening, he wordlessly ushered you in. You were struck by a futile hope that your trembling legs went unnoticed. Speaking in hushed tones:

“Would you like the bed?” 

You considered refusing, either out of politeness or self-consciousness, but you understood Levi’s equivocation—a question implied a suggestion implied an order—and nodded.

His bed, centrally placed in the small bedroom adjacent to his office, was made immaculately—sheets crisp, corners folded, pillows fluffed. More than picture-perfect. You were reluctant to sit but acquiesced under his expectant gaze. Eyes exploring the room, you noted everything was in its place; and then you asked yourself how you would know what ‘in-place’ was. You had never even considered the room’s existence before this very moment. You thought on the inherent vulnerability of the bedroom—it was not more than a person in objectified microcosm. You were suddenly self-conscious, aware of your invasion. You could sense Levi in every aspect of the room. It was a sort of omnipresence which, admittedly, disquieted you. A strange form of pervasive and ubiquitous comfort. 

He stared at you through the doorframe, arms hanging by his sides. Neither turned away when you confronted his gaze. You searched his face and found him unreadable. His form tenebrous against the dark backdrop of his office; in the shadows, he showed his age. You were reminded that while you watched him, he watched back. Again, you were self-conscious; aware of his scrutinizing gaze, of the space you occupied. A habitual comfortable silence this was not—the air felt suspended, heavy with potentiality, about to drop. Or perhaps it was already in freefall. 

He was crossing the room, his steps reverberating through you. Atmosphere vibrating. The bed dipped as he sat beside you. Who else had shared this experience, seated next to Levi in his bedroom? You wished yourself to be the first, a pioneer. Something about it gave you a headrush—was it the intimacy of something shared by only two, or the excitement of exclusivity? You decided it didn’t matter.

He still sat before you, deciding what to do, calculative. You forced yourself not to move. You wanted him to initiate. 

When he finally did, you had settled so far into the stillness that his movement startled you. 

His hands dragged over yours, slowly, achingly so, lingering on your digits, your wrists. Slipping under, his fingertips found your palms, tracing along the creases, pressing into the pads. The spaces between fingers, the dips in your knuckles. He found it all, left no place untouched. Nimble fingers pushed up your sleeves, cool air raising goosebumps. A touch, barely perceptible, ghosted over your arms, grazing hair more than the skin, tingling trails left in its wake. Your eyes flitted up from his hands; his face was firm, his brow furrowed in concentration, gaze focused on his own movement. 

You wanted more. You found your skin to be shell-like, an epidermal barrier, and wished to shed it. To rid yourself of that cursed, fleshly mediator, and to feel his touch directly. Not on your skin, on _you._ No longer a timid interest, but a primordial need to feel a connection between two innate unknowns—a need to be touched, held, until you were nothing but one nebulous silhouette. 

You sat, absorbing his touch, emitting waves of feverish air. Reluctant to breath. One hand intertwined with yours. The other continued on, trailing over your features. Fingertips on your ear. Your cheek. The ridge of your bottom lip. Your cupid’s bow. The bridge of the nose. Browbone. His touch, a fomentation of something long smoldering within you. A corporeal glow, burning, blistering. 

Levi stopped. He met your gaze. His eyes said, _“Now you.”_

You reenacted his motions in tender emulation. His eyes on you as hands shakily grazed his skin. Barely-there tremors under your fingers—insuppressible reaction. His hands, arms, still and there for you to feel. His sharp features softened under your touch. Eyes, attentive, never drifting away, lucid and drinking in your movement. You savored each other. 

Levi was the first who dared to speak: “I would like to kiss you, now.”

You reveled in the quiver of his voice. Nervousness. So open, so clearly stated. 

You liked the way he felt against you—his lips were warm and satin-like. Exploratory, sentient. They modulated slowly, subtle movements fading into one another, an amalgam of quiet, labial gesture. Your hands came to rest on his wrists, and he gasped at the contact. Everything hyperaware, hypersensitive. You swore you could feel his heartbeat in your chest. You liked the shared, languid sensuality—quietly seductive but imbued with innocence. Levi loosed his hands from yours and moved them to your face, cradling it. You could feel the rough callouses against your cheek—the hands of a soldier. You gripped at the sheets. Cloth massaged between your fingers. You liked the way he pulled away from the kiss, and his breath blew, hot, against your lips. You had never seen him winded before. 

“You feel nice, Captain.” Head light and floating high above the room, you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed by the way you slurred your words.

He shared the bed with you that night. Face to face, his hands roaming your sides, indolent. Silently awake, resting in the other’s company.

As a child, awake at night, lost in that pervasive nocturne, you would dream of a feeling: an ineffable intimacy, something you dully craved but never found. Had you loved this moment since you were a child? This untroubled moment, secluded from the collection of cruel and terrible moments that defined and would come to define the remainder of your life. You memorized it, writing it in fleeting senses and images. 

One more indulgence. You wrapped your arms around Levi, holding him close, tight, and breathed in his scent, reminded of your minority: you saw your childhood home, the kitchen window. The quiet warmth. A memory enveloped in closeness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i hope you enjoyed this two-parter! thank you for reading, it’s always appreciated! also, throw a lil feedback my way if ya feel like it! more writings coming soon (?) i’ve been shockingly prolific in the past few days, let’s see how long it lasts. i’m feeling... a mr. jean kirstein piece coming soon.

**Author's Note:**

> haha! part 1 of 2! i know we’re all horny and want levi to just ravage us, but i honestly think he wouldn’t know what to do with intimacy and physical touch and i will die on this hill if i have to! anyway, feedback and constructive criticism is always appreciated!
> 
> (i also have a tumblr! check it out, drop a suggestion, ask questions, etc. https://ecrivant.tumblr.com/)


End file.
